


Coming Around

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2016 [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s02e20 Prom Queen, Family, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 01:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: Written for Klaine Advent 2016 prompt: Charm. It takes Burt a while to figure Blaine out.





	Coming Around

It’s the thing people said about Blaine, or so it seemed to Kurt. Right after “dapper” and before “gentlemanly,” they would say it—“He’s so _charming_!” And Kurt had to admit he was so in agreement with them; it was something he was proudest of about this boy. He felt sometimes like walking around Lima with Blaine was like being wrapped up in a cloud of that charm. Faces that used to be closed off to him, eyebrows raised, now were softened and welcoming. 

Just on one outing on a pretty spring afternoon, three different shopkeepers had smiled and said, “Keep the change” to Blaine. I mean, who did that? And the lady in the jewelry store actually found some Easter wrapping paper to add a special touch to his present for his mama; when Blaine went for his wallet to tip her, she had actually blushed as she stopped him with a manicured hand to his forearm. 

“That was weird,” Kurt said as they waited in line at the Sundae Shoppe. 

“Hmmm?” Blaine questioned with his eyebrows as he bent over the bag containing his purchases. 

“Mrs. Sims in the jewelry store. I’d swear she was flirting with you, but, I mean, she’s at LEAST 30.” 

“Maybe she has spring fever, Kurt,” Blaine replied. “I know I certainly do. Or maybe it’s the company. I think you should always wear just exactly that shade of blue. It really brings out your eyes.” 

Okay, so maybe those people had a point. He was charming and dreamy, and Kurt’s insides were melting with pleasure AGAIN. He longed to grab his boyfriend’s hand or steal a kiss. He settled with looking down and blushing. “Watch it mister. Flattery will get you—” 

“A ride home, I hope?” Blaine asked, leaning close to whisper, “And some makeout time in the driveway? Kitchen? My room?” 

* * *

The one person in Kurt’s life who didn’t seem to be taken by Blaine’s charm was Kurt’s dad. Kurt couldn’t blame him, actually. Finding a boy—an obviously hungover boy—in your child’s bed sort of had a way of killing any positive first impressions. Not that he DISLIKED him, really. But even after Kurt danced through the door from Dalton, with the news that he had a boyfriend, a delightful boyfriend, the best boyfriend, Burt still seemed to hold Blaine at arm’s length. 

It was more than a little frustrating to Kurt. But it was true, all the same. And, amazingly, Blaine seemed to shrink a little whenever he was around the big mechanic. Not like he was _afraid._ It was—well, it was puzzling to Kurt, is what it was. Like the afternoon Kurt was showing off the kilt he’d made to wear to prom. Blaine, though he was out of his dapper uniform, still looked smart in his tight black polo, if a little restrained. But though he was, as always, polite to Kurt’s dad, he wasn’t—he just wasn’t _CHARMING._ Instead, to be honest, the cutest person in the room, the one most excited about Kurt and his kilt, was Burt. Smiling, laughing, remembering his own prom. Kurt appreciated Finn’s _Braveheart_ comment, but Blaine—he just squirmed and looked small. 

He puzzled over it, even after he and Blaine had a few moments to themselves, up in his room, before his boyfriend had to go home to dinner. Blaine had apologized for not being as enthusiastic as he—well, as he CLEARLY should have been. And when, in his disappointment, Kurt was still a little snippy, Blaine had pulled him close, his hands resting low on Kurt’s hips. “C’mon, Kurt. Can you blame me? You look so HOT in this kilt. I couldn’t let Finn and your dad see how much I liked it, after all, could I?” And then he’d kissed Kurt so thoroughly that he forgot his concerns about Blaine and his dad. 

* * *

After the prom, he stood on the porch watching Blaine’s tail lights until he turned onto Wilson, then went inside with Finn. The house was mostly dark, the only light the lamp over the kitchen table, where Carole and Burt sat with cups of coffee in front of them. A third cup sat in front of Finn’s empty chair. “You want some? It’s decaf, but, well, we were waiting for you,” Finn said. 

He nodded, then placed the crown and scepter on the table and stood there silent. 

“Blaine on his way?” 

“Yes. He has curfew at Dalton.” 

“Huh. Thought he’d be going back to his mom and dad’s house.” 

“His dad’s at a conference. And with his mom alone, he—he didn’t want to worry her.” 

“Are you saying they don’t even _know?”_

“Know _what?_ That homophobic _assholes_ think he’s a joke? That I’m a joke? Nothing REALLY happened.” 

“What do you mean—?” Carole was so distressed. 

“No one got HURT, Carole. It’s okay. He _really_ didn’t want his mom to worry. He told her—” He swallowed hard, not looking at Finn, “he told her that the football players have our backs here.” 

Finn blushed and started to struggle with an apology. 

“I KNOW you do. We weren’t lying to her. And no one ended up bleeding in the parking lot. He texted her just now. She knows he’s on the road, safe. And he’ll text her again when he gets to Dalton. She—she knows the drill.” 

His dad stayed silent, spanning his coffee cup with his hands, as Carole and Finn talked about the phone call—from Santana, of all people—telling them about the Prom Queen mess. 

Kurt reached out his hand to grasp his dad’s arm. “It’s okay, Dad. We Hummels are made of tougher stuff, right?” 

His dad’s only reply was a gruff nod. But after Kurt had climbed the stairs and changed for bed, his dad came into his room and closed the door. 

Kurt turned from his seat at his mom’s old vanity, concerned. 

“You gonna be okay to sleep?” Burt asked, crossing to perch on the foot of the bed. 

“Are _YOU?”_

Instead of answering, Burt leaned forward, his hands folded at his mouth, his gaze on the bedroom floor instead of on his son. He took a deep breath, then asked, “What did you mean when you said she knew the drill?” 

Surprised, Kurt frowned at his dad’s bowed head. As he tried to find words to—well, not quite LIE, but not tell his dad the whole truth—Burt looked up quickly and locked eyes with him, “And what’s all this stuff about bleeding in parking lots? There’s something you’re not telling me.” 

Kurt took a step toward his father. “Oh, Dad. It’s not my story to tell. Just—Blaine understood why Dalton was a refuge for me, you know.” 

“C’mere,” Burt murmured, standing to pull Kurt close. 

* * *

After that—well, Burt just touched Blaine more, laughed with him more. Kurt noticed Burt making time for Blaine, slowly but surely pulling him into the sacred circle of family. And Kurt was grateful for that; he barely felt like HE had time with his boyfriend that summer. Blaine had a grueling schedule at King’s Island, so busy that he slept some nights down at Nick’s family’s house in Dayton so he could be at the park in the early morning. And Kurt was putting in long hours at the garage, both to replenish his savings and to give his dad some free time to spend alone with Carole. He and Finn had worked it out; Finn split his time between pool jobs with Puck during the day and evenings learning the ropes at the garage. On Wednesdays, they gave Dad the night off and kept the garage open until 9. 

It was fun, mostly; the other guys were pretty patient with their mistakes—well, Finn’s. He had a longer learning curve, after all. But it was a long day for them both. They’d come home bone tired, eat the food Carole had left for them, sometimes sitting together in front of the TV, sometimes standing over the sink. At first, they had the guys over to play games, but both of them found they were really content to just chill, maybe play a few games of Mario Kart—just the two of them. Usually, all Kurt wanted on Wednesdays was to shower and sleep so he could start his Thursdays bright and early. 

That’s because Thursday was Blaine’s day off—and Kurt’s as well. And they had _plans_ for Thursdays. Blaine and he had worked hard on the calendar attached to the back of Kurt’s bedroom door. It was a work of art, a color-coded list of local community events and movie and theater schedules that left room for picnic ideas and pool days and was cross-referenced with Pam Anderson’s work schedule. 

He was surprised when they came home one thundery night in early July to the sight of Blaine’s silver Prius and Carole’s new green Hyundai standing in the driveway. They heard Blaine’s laugh as they stepped down from the truck, coming from the new screened-in side porch. Dad and his cousin Stan had added it to their house over four spring weekends, a wedding present from Stan. It had become sort of Burt and Carole’s private hideaway, so it wasn’t odd to find them there at the end of Date Night. But what was _Blaine_ doing here? The ground around the new addition was still raw and muddy, so the boys hurried to the front porch, where they kicked off their boots and coveralls before heading through the house. 

Carole had her paints out and looked like she was working on another of her watercolor studies of fruit. A bowl of early peaches sat in the middle of the table. And on the other side sat his dad and Blaine, bent together over one large block of watercolor paper. A neat little watercolor of a single perfect peach rested in front of Blaine’s place, but he was leaning over Burt’s, a brush in his hand. And Burt was giggling. Actually giggling as he tried to shape the orange blotches on his paper into art. 

Carole caught sight of Kurt in the doorway. “Hi, honey. Where’s Finn?” 

“He’s in the kitchen, hoping that there’s food,” Kurt replied, his eyes on his boyfriend. “We didn’t know that you’d be home.” 

“We only went round to Phil’s for some barbecue on the deck. Guess the threat of rain kept the crowd down, and we were home by 8. And then Blaine, um—and I decided to add to my fruit collection,” she said, vaguely gesturing with the hand holding the brush. “We left yours in the fridge,” she added, just as Finn yelled, “Found it, Kurt!” Blaine looked up, his eyes shining with mirth. They softened, his grin falling away into a look of pleasure at the sight of Kurt in his black tank and sky-blue UnderArmour shorts. It was _hot_ under those coveralls, after all. Then his eyes went round with dismay. “Shoot. If you’re home, that means I’m late. I told Dad I’d watch the Cubs game with him.” 

He jumped up, gathering up his painting supplies. “Leave it, son. Carole and I are gonna be at it for a while longer,” Burt said. As Blaine demurred, he continued, “Cubs, huh? What’s that about?” 

Blaine drew himself up and turned, a fond look on his face. “Dad is a Chicago boy. They lived there ‘til he was 12. And, as he always puts it, a boy never forgets his first love.” He blushed as he snuck a look at his boyfriend, and a flush of happiness coursed through Kurt. 

“And you watch with him?” 

Blaine sighed gently. “Remember my dad and his “bonding” attempts? This one sort of worked—on both my older brother and I. _He’s_ probably at the game tonight.” “West Coast game?” 

“Yes, sir. Dodgers. And first pitch was—” He winced, checking his watch. “10 minutes ago. I really should go.” He stepped close to Kurt, took a deep breath, and kissed him, quick and chaste. Kurt glanced to see if his parents cared, but Carole had returned to her painting, taking a small sip of the glass of beer next to her elbow, and his dad just chuckled as he wiped his brushes and Blaine’s with a small towel. 

“I’m surprised to see you,” Kurt whispered as they headed down the hall to the door. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work tonight?” 

“Oh. They closed the park at 5. There was some scary lightning strikes nearby. I was gonna text you, but then the skies opened up, and I ran to my car, and I was all wet, and I guess I forgot. It was pouring all the way past Dayton.” He pouted as he caught the roiling sky through the front door. “It looks like it’s heading our way fast. Hope this doesn’t spoil our pool day tomorrow.” 

Kurt echoed the pouty face. “Oh, And I had a new swim suit I wanted you to see. Now I’m going to have to rethink my entire wardrobe.” 

“I was thinking maybe we could substitute a movie matinee? We could see _Transformers?”_ At Kurt’s wrinkled nose, he leaned close, his mouth close to Kurt’s ear as he said, “Or, we could see _Thor_ again? Some nice Chris Hemsworth thighs might be the cure for—well, for _me_ missing a chance to see you in that suit.” 

Kurt was turning into a kiss when his dad cleared his throat from down the hall. Ignoring the glare his son sent his way, he offered his hand to Blaine. “Sorry to interrupt. Carole just sent me to say thanks again.” 

Blaine just grimaced and stepped away from Kurt. “Oh, it was my pleasure, Mr. Hummel. Just looking forward to seeing you next Saturday.” 

Burt clapped the teen on his shoulder. “Still, it was very thoughtful of you. She’s gonna love it.” 

“Come early. I’ll make sure to dedicate a song to you guys.” 

“You bet,” Burt replied, and then lingered, despite Kurt’s raised eyebrow, until Blaine just quickly planted a kiss on Kurt’s cheek and hurried out the door to his car, chuckling and shaking his head. 

Kurt leaned against the doorframe, watching Blaine drive away, and asked, “What was that all about?” 

“Besides having fun torturing you?” Burt cocked his head. He was having too much fun for Kurt’s taste. “Nothing out of the usual. Just that boyfriend of yours being the most charming guy in three states is all.” 

Well, that was interesting. Kurt wondered just what it was about Blaine that had charmed his dad. 

Burt pushed open the screen door and fussed with the boy’s abandoned coveralls, piling them into the wicker hamper he and Kurt had bought when they moved to the new house, without direct access from the garage to the laundry. Kurt trailed after him, lining up the boots on the boot tray. 

When he was done, Burt rested against the porch railing. “We came back from dinner to find him on the porch writing Carole a note. He got us free passes to that Rick Springfield concert at Kings Island next Saturday.” 

“Oh God. She wasn’t kidding when she said _Jesse’s Girl_ was one of her favorite songs,” Kurt laughed, perching next to his dad. 

“Point is, he noticed AND remembered. And then when we invited him inside, he complimented Carole’s little strawberry painting on the hall table. And somehow, instead of us having cold beers and a cuddle while she watched one of those _Housewives_ shows you two like so much, we ended up hanging out with the kid doing arts and crafts.” 

“Sounds about like a typical school day afternoon at Dalton.” 

“Huh. So it’s not just something he puts on for the parents. I wondered.” 

“What’s so bad about Blaine being as charming as Cary Grant?” 

“Oh, you got it bad, kid,” Burt teased, ruffling his son’s hair. 

“I’d say watch the hair, but after a day at the garage, you can’t do much more damage,” Kurt joked. 

Burt threw his son one of his crooked grins. He ran his hands over his bald head, thinking. “Ah, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Just—it’s a lot of work, being that perfect. It would be nice to know that he feels like he could drop the mask sometimes. Feel safe, you know?” 

Surprised a bit at his dad’s serious tone, Kurt was careful with his words. “I know what you mean, Dad. And—we’re good. I think? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy watching him turn on the charm. Especially when he turns it on for ME. But—do you think it counts that he’s let me see what a big dork he is? Like, the thing he’s looking forward to the most is getting a bunch of us to dress in costumes to the midnight show of _Deathly Hallows.”_

Burt huffed out his agreement. “That’s part of it. Though, I’m sure you don’t mind the dressing up part. But—he tells you when he has a shitty day, too, right?” 

“Dad. Of course he does.” 

Burt threw his arm across his son’s shoulders. “Good. That’s good,” he said, his voice gruff. 

“So I take it you approve of my boyfriend?” 

Burt chuckled. “He might actually be good enough for you, you know? We’ll see.” Then he stood with a sense of finality and headed back inside. “Well, I’ve kept you away from the kitchen way too long. We better get you in there before Finn eats all the barbecue we brought home. He was standing at the sink working on his second pulled pork sandwich when I came out.” 

“Right behind you,” Kurt answered. He watched his dad head back to Carole and her paints, but stayed on the porch for a moment, turning his face into the strong breeze that heralded the oncoming storm. Leave it to his dad that when he finally succumbed to Blaine’s charms, he ended up letting him all the way in—and figured him out in the process. If Kurt were honest, that’s probably how it worked for him, too. He would always have fond memories of Dapper Warbler Blaine, but the dumbass who planned the Gap attack and flirted with dating Rachel and asked him to dance at prom in front of a roomful of haters—that was the boy he was in love with. The rest of the world could have the charmer; he wanted the real boy. 

“Hey, Kurt! You want any of these?” Finn called out, and Kurt headed in to rescue his dinner as the first fat raindrops fell.


End file.
